


to stand tall

by ryaptor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rating may be subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryaptor/pseuds/ryaptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas could take curses, harsh words and cold stares but the Inquisitor just looked at him with barely hidden loss. Oh, if only he had told her what he had meant to. But it was safer this way.</p><p>Set after Solas take Lavellan to the lake. Small series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all wounds heal (except those of the heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to the Dread Wolf from the Trespasser DLC (on Youtube) and I just needed to write out some of my emotions. First time writing Solas, should be studying for my maths midsemester in seven and a half hours actually. Anyway, here you go.

“May the Dread Wolf take you!”

He hoped she did not see him flinch as the Inquisitor calls out the familiar Dalish curse, lightning arcing from one Red Templar to another and another as they tried to advance on her. Green eyes were alight, determined and bright in the heat of battle. She was a force to be reckoned with and yet he could remember how fragile she had been when he had left her by the water. Still he ached when he thought of that moment, why…

There is whistle through the air and a sharp pain in his shoulder. In his distraction his attention had been pulled from the battle and a shard of red lyrium now found itself lodged deep within. His staff slipped from his grip as he fell on his knee, pain lancing as a terrible singing filled his ears.

“Solas! Hold on.” Lavellan cried to him, hands motioning strongly towards the Red Templar who had hurt him, a direct bolt of lightning paralysing him. “Blackwall, watch my back!”

He heard the bearded warrior call a gruff affirmation while Solas tried to protest her help but all he could give out was a soft groan. Blue light suddenly surrounded him, warm and calming, then she was there by his side. Solas could not help but stare, heart tugging as the fateful night played in his mind again. He had told her the truth about the vallaslin and now her skin was void of the green branches that once framed her face. Yet he could not truly tell her what he wished, fear had made sure of that.

“Stay still, I’m going to remove it.” He heard her say, giving a slight nod to show he heard her. Even after what had happened she still cared for him? He had thought she would be bitter after such a betrayal yet in a way she seemed to understand. That hurt more than anything else.

Solas could take curses, harsh words and cold stares but the Inquisitor just looked at him with barely hidden loss. Oh, if only he had told her what he had meant to. But it was safer this way.

“Inquisitor!” Blackwall called just as she was about to grab the lyrium. “Look out!”

Looking just past her Solas tenses as a rogue Red Templar manifests from a cloud of black smoke, red lyrium arms sharper than a blade heading straight for her. His body reacts instantly, fingers wrapping around the shaft of his staff as he heaves himself up to dance around the Inquisitor, standing between her and the attacker. A wall of ice then forms around the Templar who gives a choked cry before going limp. Energy spent Solas falls again, or he would have if not for her arm wrapping around his waist and her hand upon his chest. The singing in his head grew louder as the lyrium within his shoulder pulsed, glow growing, a low hiss slipping through gritted teeth. Lavellan glanced up at him for a split second but Solas saw the concern reflected in her eyes before they hardened. She gave no warning, just grabbed the cursed lyrium and pulled it out, throwing it away quickly as if it would burn her if she held onto it too long.

Blood flowed from the wound but the singing stopped, his chest heaving as he took in each breath, hand reaching up to try and slow the flow. It hurt, more than it should, and through the haze of pain Solas wondered why exactly it was so potent.

“Keep your hand over it.” Lavellan commanded and once again he was on his knees as she lowered him carefully down, pulling her knife from its sheathe to create a tear in her undershirt. She left enough material to cover her bosom, the rest deftly turned into strips of makeshift bandage.

Solas had forgotten about her aptitude for healing though her actions serve to remind him of a time when they had spent talking about her past. They had sat on the couch in his section of Skyhold, her legs lazily draped over his knees, veilfire light dancing across her skin.

_“I was a clumsy child, adventurous as well. Mamae thought it wise to teach me how to heal my wounds in case I ever got into trouble.”_

She had laughed at that, a beautiful sound. Would he ever hear such a laugh again?

“That should do. Drink this.” Lavellan spoke, holding out a health potion which Solas took. As she stood her hand moved towards him, almost as if it were going to caress the side of his face when it was pulled back sharply, fingers curling tightly around her staff before she gives him a sharp nod and dives back into the fray.

_Oh, how the Dread Wolf wishes to take you instead._


	2. the eye of the storm (not as peaceful as it seems)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian voices what Lavellan wants to. Solas barely keeps his cool. Leliana sees all.

Dipping his brush into the pallet Solas once again brings it to the smooth stone surface of the rotunda. He has always found painting to be a therapeutic habit of his, calming as he simply let his body work and his mind relax for once. The images of his mind take shape upon the stone, and at first he had been worried someone may notice exactly what these murals depicted but all had accepted that they were the Inquisitor’s story.

It was amusing in a way, his name meant pride in the Dalish tongue and here he was painting his own story. A habit picked up many years ago however.

Keen ears pick up the sound of the door to the main hall opening and closing, following by light footfalls so soft they could easily be missed. Solas was familiar with the sound, very familiar, and he knew Lavellan would be standing near the door before he even turned around.

It had been a few nights since they had returned from Emprise Du Lion, since he had been badly injured by a shard of lyrium. They had not spoken, though she had passed by several times to go speak with Dorian or Leliana. Solas expected her to ignore him again, pass right by and climb the stairs but she remained near the door watching him. Solas continued to paint but the both of them knew he was aware of her presence. What was he to say? No words seem adequate to fill the silence and a small part of him was hoping she would move on. That was not the case however.

“How is your shoulder?” Lavellan spoke, voice soft and unsure. Would he be annoyed at the disturbance? She had been avoiding him since his injury, after all she had nearly broken her composure and shown affection. He had made it clear they were over and so she did not want to push any boundaries.

“It is fine, thanks to you.” Solas turned as he replied, carefully placing his paint brush down upon the pallet. “Were you not so quick to remove the red lyrium I may have been in danger.”

“I spoke to Varric and Dagna about that. We came to the conclusion that because it is infected with the Blight it attacks the body. I can’t imagine the pain the Templars have gone through to actually use that stuff.” Lavellan gives a shudders, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You feel pity for them, don’t you?” Solas asks, head tilting ever so slightly. He knew she had a slight fear of the Templars, a bad experience when she was young that she barely speaks about.

“Of course I do. I may not be fond of the Templars but that does not mean I wish them ill. Standing near that red lyrium is bad enough, but actually ingesting it.” She heaves a sigh, hand rubbing at her forehead before running through her hair. “ _I_ am not heartless, Solas.”

The way she speaks the last sentence, it is an accusation towards him. She knows it, he knows it, and for a tense few moments their eyes lock. In the wild this would be seen as a challenge for dominance and so Solas looks away first. He has no wish to fight with her, he does not have the energy.

Lavellan soon regrets her harsh words, mouth opening to apologise before she shuts it without a single word. She takes in a deep breath, huffing it out sharply through her nose before she slips away up the stairs.

Solas waits until he can hear Dorian greet her before he moves once again, loosening his grip upon the pallet that had threatened to break the thin wood. He had just brought his brush back up to continue painting when he hears Lavellan once more.

“Dorian, no!” She calls, voice echoing through the rotunda.

Footsteps come down the stairs now, heavy ones followed by a lighter set and Solas knows exactly what will happen next. He turns just as the Tevinter mage comes into sight, mouth set in a disapproving frown as he stomps over to Solas. Lavellan hangs further back, a hand wiping quickly at her cheek but Solas can still see the wetness in her eyes.

His chest hurts but he resolves himself to deal with his own emotions later. He cannot show weakness now, especially when Dorian was standing right in front of him.

“Listen here.” Dorian begins, jabbing a finger in Solas’ chest. “What is your bloody problem? She not good enough for you, is that it? Well, let me tell you something, you are wrong. I don’t care how self-righteous you are, and believe me I’m from Tevinter I know self-righteous when I see it, you do not get to hurt her. If you so much as make her cry one more time I will burn you alive then bring you back so I can burn you alive again!”

By now Lavellan had moved forward, hands wrapping around Dorians’ arm to tug him back with a weak. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It’s really not.” Dorian replied, dark eyes burning as they stared at Solas.

Solas was not fond of being threatened, his eyes grow harsh but when he speaks his voice is calm. “Is that all? As you can tell, I’m busy.”

“Busy? Busy?! Now listen here you-“ Dorian begins, taking a step forward, but is cut off when Lavellan moves between them both, pushing Dorian back.

“Dorian, please! Just drop it.” Her back is to Solas but he can hear the waver in her voice. His hands itch to reach out and embrace her, pull her close and comfort her. But he can’t. “Can we just go? Lets go to the Herald’s Rest.”

Dorian looks at her before his gaze moves back to Solas. This is a battle of dominance he was not going to back down from, but the Tevinter soon looks back at Lavellan, his eyes softening. “Alright, anything for you.”

And they leave, not without Dorian casting Solas a final glare.

Solas draws in a shaky breath now, pallet thrown down harshly upon his desk so he can lean against it with both hands. It takes a few moments for his body to stop shaking and when it does he stands straight once more. The sounds of flapping catch his attention next, eyes glancing upwards just in time to see Leliana retreat backwards.

Of course she had watched the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is great friends with Lavellan, almost brotherly at times and when he sees tears in her eyes of course he confronts Solas. I didn't think I would get so many hits/kudos left as I did for the first chapter so I have written more.


End file.
